


DNA

by elation



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24920785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elation/pseuds/elation
Summary: Eleven years prior, Castiel and Anna are ripped from their homes to be experimented on for certain abilities given to them at birth. They must confront a new normal when they are broken out of their facility by a task force of people with similar abilities.
Relationships: Anna Milton/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	DNA

_Security breach, security breach._

Castiel’s eyes snap open from where he’s sitting, meditating. They flicker to the spot Anna was sitting moments ago, now seemingly vacant. Castiel whispers calmly, “Are you still here?”  
  
“Yeah,” Anna breathes, although Castiel appears alone in the room. Red lights flash in through the door, and the alarms are ringing loud, the constant mantra of _security breach_ rattling around the whole facility.  
  
Footsteps clang above them, running, crashing, but he hears no voices. Castiel protectively monitors the four corners of their room, alert and poised, while he tries to figure out what’s going on. The needle marks in his arms send a familiar ache down to his hand, and he flexes it unhappily. It doesn’t go away.  
  
With a quiet beep, the red letters next to the door change from CLOSED to a lime green OPEN. Castiel stiffens. Their last form of protection is gone and he’s unsure of what’s to come. Anna rushes towards him, scared, and he can feel the gust of air hit him when she asks, “Do you want me to go check it out?”  
  
“No, stay where you are. Stay invisible. Don’t move,” Castiel orders back, trying to be quiet for fear of being watched. This has never happened before, and the rushed slap of footsteps outside their cell only further sends his panic into overdrive.  
  
He quickly lifts his palm, casting a jet of freezing water over the door. It immediately solidifies into a barrier. He gets up from the floor, looking around the room, but it’s empty; it’s simply a meditation room. A ghostly hand curls around his wrist, and Anna hisses, “ _look_!”

Behind Castiel’s barrier, there are two blurry figures. People. Not guards. Castiel is suddenly frantic and scared, “What the fuck?”  
  
“They’re not doctors, either.” Anna says, as if reading his mind. Her hand is gone and when she speaks, it’s further back. She sneers the word doctors when she speaks.

“Do you think this is part of training?”

Castiel’s ice barrier begins cracking and it becomes increasingly obvious that the two figures on the other side want inside their cell. He backs away, not sure what else to do. They can’t be cracking the ice by pure force. It’s impossible.

Anna fists her hands into Castiel’s shirt to pull him back further, and begins cradling his waist protectively. A warm glow starts to appear in front of the foggy figures, bright as the sun and the cracked ice begins to melt. It happens within seconds, and Castiel is powerless to stop it. He watches in astonishment as the puddle slowly creeps around his feet, and sensing his anger building, Anna says, “Don’t hurt them. Let’s see what they want.”  
  
“I don’t care who they are. We need to get out here.”  
  
“By any means?”  
  
Castiel nods at her. At this point, his ice wall has become reduced to half its size. The figures start to come into focus.  
  
“I’m going to the other side of the room, okay?” Anna whispers quietly, “element of misdirection.” Castiel can hear the smirk in Anna’s voice; a tactic they used to confuse the doctors back when they were younger. She knows how to fight when necessary.  
  


When he feels Anna leave him, he immediately can feel his heart beating faster, fingers twitching as he resists the urge to throw up another ice wall. Or better yet, attack.

The orange blaze on the other side of the door shows it would be futile. He listens to what Anna told me instead. The doors slide open, wetly, and Castiel presses himself to the wall, preparing to fight dirty, if needed.  
  
Two men, barely in their mid-twenties, stumble inside the door, appearing more panicked than Castiel himself. The one on the left, a man with light brown, messy hair and blown, green eyes looks at him straight and asks, “Are you okay? Can you run?”  
  
Castiel stares wordlessly as the other man, the taller one, starts looking around the room, asking, “Where’s the other? She’s in here, I can feel it.” A meditation mat lifts itself into the air, and quickly starts circling the room, whirling past Castiel to catch in midair, where it collides with Anna.  
  
The other man, having planned that – reaches out and grasps at the empty space. Immediately, Anna’s visible again and shouting, “Don’t touch me! What do you want? What do you want? I said don’t touch me!”  
  
The other man is unbothered, but focused when he tells them, “I’m Sam and that’s Dean. We’re here to rescue you.”  
  
The boy with the light brown hair –Dean – nods vehemently, and Anna struggles to get her arm back from where Sam has grabbed her, but he seems to anticipate that Anna will disappear when she does. He’s trying to get her to calm down, but she’s refuses to settle.

A loud bang overhead makes Dean flinch, and he says to Sam, “It’s time to go.”  
  
It’s then that Castiel finds his voice. Over the alarms and other background noise, Castiel’s focus is all over the place and he doesn’t understand why any of this is happening, but he’s not one to just agree to things because they sound good and he refuses to put Anna in a situation that could ultimately cause her harm. Knowing this, Castiel yells, “Why should we go with you?” Sparks have started to rain down from their electric doorframe.  
  
“Do you like being experimented on?” Dean shouts over the grinding noise, determination written all over his face; Castiel stares at him, unable to think of a response.  
  
Sam takes his silence as an answer, guiding Anna towards the door. She has stopped struggling, so Castiel resigns himself to follow, with Dean behind him, trying to keep them in a line. As they hurry down the hallway, Sam throws his arms apart; the large door trapping them in flies open. It becomes increasingly obvious to Castiel in that moment that Sam’s a talented telekinetic, and meeting someone other than Anna with powers feels to him a little jarring.  
  
As they run through the foyer, they pass a reception desk on fire. Smoke is filling up to the ceiling and Castiel accidentally trips on some of the debris. He’s caught by burning warm hands, steadied to his feet, and he looks at Dean in surprise. The man looks back with an indiscernible expression.  
  
“Your hands. They’re burning.”  
  


Dean ignores him, pushing him further. “Watch your step.”  
  
A fire handler. Castiel’s mind spins as he tries to keep up, unable to focus on everything going on in such a small amount of time. He instead concentrates on keeping close to Anna. An intense sting blooms in the inside of his elbow again, needle pricks flaring up. The chaos around him makes him wonder why he had no warning; could all of this have happened so quickly? Wasn’t there something that could have tipped him off? He doesn’t know what he’s missing.  
  
Sam thrusts his arms open again, but this time the main front doors only groan. The metal slowly warps in the middle, the large printed _S-CORP_ twisting in to be unreadable, but not enough to allow them through.  
  
“Sam,” Dean calls, insistent.  
  
“I’m trying,” Sam shouts back.  
  
Castiel looks at Dean, and barks at them disbelievingly, “What are you people _doing_?”  
  
“We already told you? Rescuing you, man.” Dean tells him, steadfastly.  
  
“But why?”  
  
The man, unexpectedly, grins. “Because we never leave a man behind.”  
  
The door finally permits enough space for them to push through. As they push themselves through, guards immediately start firing, and one bullet narrowly misses Dean’s head. They continue onward.

  
Outside, there’s a crowd. Before Castiel can get a proper look, however, an older woman with short brown hair pulls him into her arms and whispers, “This might hurt.”  
  
***  
  
Teleporting isn’t what Castiel expected, although that would suggest he’s thought about it. He hasn’t  
  
It does hurt, but in an aching way, like his muscles are being stretched tight, past their limit. His insides feel like they’ve somersaulted, leaving him nauseous and gagging when they finally come to a standstill. He stumbles away, bile rising up in his throat, but when he feels himself falling, someone grabs his shoulder to stop him. The room is brightly lit, although shapes seem to blur together.  
  
A girl crouches down, her long blonde hair falling off her shoulder, and she says, “Are you okay?”  
  
People keep asking him that. Her image doubles and blends back to one. His head pounds mercilessly. He waits for it to pass.  
  
Two pairs of feet appear in front of him again, and Anna’s knees nearly buckle as she tries not to sway. The other girl disappears again, Anna tumbling sideway to Castiel, and the blonde looks up at someone Castiel hasn’t seen, asking, “How many trips is Mom making?”  
  
“They’re coming back in the trucks, but Dean and Sam need to be here,” a male voice says.  
  
Castiel tries to straighten up for some sense of grounding. Anna sags heavily into him.  
  
“Okay,” Anna says, as the teleporter reappears, Sam awkwardly tucked under her arm, Dean in the other. “Will someone please tell us what’s going on?” Her eyes are uncharacteristically bright, open to these new possibilities they’ve just been given.  
  
Castiel nods, helplessly, and the other five people in the room look serious; Castiel suddenly feels like he’s behind glass, and they’re all just observing. The mystery male voice belongs to an older man, who wears a cap pulled low on his eyes and his graying hair out of his face. He’s got a gruff demeanor, years of experience in his face and they way he holds himself. Castiel can immediately infer this is their leader if they have one.  
  


The girl with long blonde hair rises from the crouching position, and her face is pretty and delicate, but her voice demanded respect. “I’m Jo. We’re the good guys.” She manages a small smile.  
  
“How did you know about us?” Castiel asks quietly, confused. Anna’s pressed in close, as if cornered. All the people staring at them are starting to make her feel the need to retreat.  
  
“We keep track,” Sam voices, wiping away a small hint of blood from the shallow cut on his chin. “The people that kept you are part of a large, trans international organization that spreads over half the world.”  
  
Dean nods from beside him, wiping soot on his pants. “We’re regularly notified of how many people are in each base. Our informants led us to you two.”  
  
Anna gives them a bland, annoyed look as she says, “We were there for eleven years. Are you serious? Why now?”  
  
Castiel touches Anna’s side, his icy touch a warning. They don’t usually talk about this, about the before and after. Life before the S-CORP, and life in the S-CORP. It’s easier not to. Emotions can make life a lot harder. Castiel can repress things when necessary, Anna’s never been like that.  
  
The older man with the hat grimaces. He takes it off, rubbing what little hair he has, and says, “Look, I know you’re upset and still processing what’s going on. You’ve been through a lot, but we’re not miracle workers. We do what we can as quickly as we can with the limited resources we have. The CIA has been working on shutting down the organization for years, but with all the secrecy...it just ain’t magic.” The man trails off, having a hard time keeping his gaze from the wall.  
  
“Let’s just continue with names. One thing at a time. Like I said, I’m Jo, and that old geezer over there is Bobby,” Jo tells them. “He’s an agent for the CIA, and he’s done a lot for us. Oh, and that lady who brought you here? That’s my mom, her name is Ellen. – “ but instead Dean cuts her off.  
  
“Okay, maybe that’s enough for tonight. I know you probably have a lot of questions,” Dean tells them, earnestly, “and we’ll answer them, but tonight…tonight isn’t such a good time. I think we all need time to recoup.”  
  
Dean’s face has a worn look, and his brown hair is peppered with dirt where it sticks up. His shoulders are broad and his shirt doesn’t hide the thick muscles wrapped around his arms, and Castiel prematurely recognizes him as a leader, even standing next to a man like Sam who was taller, with probably one of the most powerful abilities on Earth. Even if he took a backseat sometimes. It was intriguing.

  
“I’ll show you to your room,” the woman Castiel now knows as Ellen tells them. Her motherly voice soothes the rawest of his’s nerves. She doesn’t touch them, but leads the way, and Castiel follows aimlessly, unsure of what other choice he has. As they leave the room, the other four form a circle, blocking them out before the door closes.  
  
***  
  
Ellen is kind and peaceful, smiling at them comfortingly as she shows them their room. It’s a simple room with two beds, a large window, wardrobes. An actual room. Worlds different to the small, sterile white and bare holding cells Castiel’s used to.  
  
Ellen smiles up at them –shorter than them both – and says, “Are you hungry or thirsty? I could get you something.”  
  
Anna smiles at her sheepishly, the kind of smile Castiel hasn’t seen for what feels like years. “No, we’re fine.”  
  
She nods, telling them, “The kitchen is downstairs, if you change your mind. Otherwise, I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning.”  
  
They nod at her, and it’s only just as she’s closing the door Castiel remembers to say, “Thank you.”  
  
She pauses, turning to look at him and say, “You’re welcome.” Her smile warms a place in Castiel he thought dark and icy. It’s enough for now.

  
When she shuts the door, the light above them flickers momentarily, and Castiel glances up. He unconsciously grasps the inside of his elbow, unable to scratch the continuous itch. He watches as Anna sits down gingerly on the edge of his bed. The whole feeling is surreal and unfocused, and for a moment, Castiel’s thought patterns stutter.  
  
Then, suddenly, Anna laughs.  
  
“We’re free?”  
  
Castiel’s lips quirk. “Don’t get too excited yet.”  
  
Castiel keeps a smile on his lips though, her excitement and relief is contagious, and Anna beckons him closer. When in reach, Anna makes a move to rolls up Castiel’s sleeve, and scrunches her face a little. “If there here to help us, I think you should start by getting this looked at, Cas.”  
  
The needle marks are inflamed, some a deep, blossoming red, others a plum purple, running like a rash along the underside of his elbow. Anna doesn’t have any, only a few white scars where they took blood, almost unnoticeable. Why they hadn’t subjected Anna to the same things, Castiel doesn’t know; he’s not a monster. It’s something he doesn’t like to think about.  
  
Castiel nods, gently pushing her hand way to pull down his sleeve again. The clock on the bedside table reads that it’s getting close to midnight. Anna’s already pulling off her sterile, cream scrubs that they always wore in the S-CORP. He looks away as she changes into the clothes given to them on the night stand, which surprisingly fit. Eventually she climbs under the warm covers. Castiel sits down and plays with the corner of his sheets, toying with the idea of sleeping, or asking Anna to stay up and help him figure this out.  
  
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. It can wait,” Anna tells him quietly, knowing Castiel well enough to read his expression. Could it wait? How could they trust these strangers?  
  
Instead of arguing, Castiel copies Anna, pulling off his shirt and getting under the sheets. Their eyes meet across the room where the beds are barely six feet apart. Anna gives him a brief smile, and Castiel tries his hardest to give a convincing back. He closes his eyes.  
  
***  
When Castiel wakes, he hears chatter. Happy chatter. Across the room Anna’s bed sheet is formed around an invisible shape, rising and falling with Anna’s breathing. Anna has never had any control over her powers when she’s asleep, which she tends to hate, and during the night she will flicker in and out of sight continuously. Castiel shuts his eyes for a moment, concentrating on sending his headache to the back of his mind. When it doesn’t work, he forces himself out of bed. On the bedside table where they left them night clothes, there’s another pile of clothes with a small note reading, _hope these fit._  
  
Castiel stares at the pile for a moment, before nimbly picking it up and putting it on his bed. He lifts the folded shirt, shaking it out to assess. It’s a normal blue shirt, with short sleeves and low neckline, and when he pulls it on, it’s loser than he intend but still wearable. There’s new, folded underwear, and a pair of jeans. The jeans are loose, but they don’t fall down by much, so Castiel figures it was a good guess. He leaves his old clothes on his bed in a haphazardly folded heap and slips on the oversized shoes, and glances back to Anna’s bed on his way out; the breathing is still slow and rhythmic. He won’t wake her up.  
  
His feet pad down the hallway, and he looks down the steps, torn between walking down them or running back to his room. Slowly, the stairs creak as he lets his weight press into them. His nervousness causes little ice particles to form on the banister, solidifying against the wood and around his hand. The chatter is getting louder, and as his feet push off the last step, the pleasant happiness can practically be felt trickling out from the kitchen door. He takes a breath, and walks in, unnoticed and quiet.  
  
Dean’s laughing, eyes sparkling and lips parted to reveal brilliant white teeth, his hand under a frying pan that seems to hover just barely above his palm. Ellen’s rolling her eyes, telling him something else as she flips the sizzling eggs in the pan. Sam has one hand reached out towards Dean and the pan, but his eyes and other hand are on a floating jug of juice, as it fills the glasses lined up on the bench. Everything seems symbiotic and it’s a weird sight for Castiel.  
  
Jo and two men Castiel hasn’t met sit at the table, arranging plates and cutlery while trying to keep the table cloth from crinkling. Both men are taller than her; one with a wicked smirk and the other – an angelic smile.  
  
Jo places napkins in the middle of the table and a gust of wind send them fluttering into the air. She frowns at the angelic one, scolding, “Inias.”  
  
Something bumps into Castiel’s back, and he stumbles forward; he feels Anna’s hands on his waist, and even when she’s invisible, Anna still hides behind him. Castiel resists rolling his eyes, and it’s times like this he remembers he’s the older one. Jumping forward garnered him more attention, though, and Dean is the first to notice. He says, “Hey, you’re awake.”  
  
The two men at the table look up in interest at the new guest, and Jo says, “Hey, Castiel, come sit down.”  
  
Sam, not turning from the three knives he has buttering the toast, adds, “And Anna too.”  
  
Anna sparks into sight, guiltily, still grasping Castiel’s shirt as she asks, “How did you know?”  
  
Sam turns his head a little, and smiles. “I could sense your energy.”  
  
“Don’t be afraid, darlin,” Ellen tells Anna, smiling encouragingly, “you don’t have to hide here.”  
  
Anna acts as if she reprimanded her, lowering her head. A breeze ruffles her hair, and the man called Inias says softly, “No worries here. Cheer up, man.”  
  
“We can’t be any worse than the shithole we found you in,” the other man says, grinning. “I’m Gabriel, Gabe. By the way.”  
  
“Inias.” Inias introduces hurriedly as well, although Castiel already caught his name.  
  
They say their own names even though it’s unnecessary, since it appears the men already know who they are. Jo pulls out seats for them and Ellen asks them how they like their eggs. Once seated together, with Inias to Castiel’s left and Sam to Anna’s right, the talk dies down a little in favor of the guests. Castiel finds himself feeling guilty.  
  
“So how did you sleep?” Ellen asks, lifting her toast to her mouth.  
  
“Uh, good,” Castiel answers, chewing on the inside of his cheek for lack of words. When he places the egg into his mouth, it goes cold, like all hot foods do. There’s condensation on his metal fork. Two glasses drift through the air, coming to sit in front of Sam and Dean, while Inias flicks his fingers over his coffee, blowing the steam away. There’s a screech from a parrot outside, loud and ringing.  
  
“Buddy says Bobby’s coming,” Jo translates, and Castiel watches her. She notices, and explains, “Ha, sorry. I understand animals. Weird, I know.”  
  
“Which is good when Gabe decides he wants to be a snake for hours on end,” Dean replies, and Sam snickers.  
  
“They’re jealous because they don’t have cool shape shifting abilities,” Gabe tells Anna and Castiel, smugly.  
  
The front door slams loudly, and Anna briefly flickers out of panic, a blush rising on her cheeks when she realizes. Anna’s not used to the sound of manual doors, Castiel knows. Dean chortles, and Bobby enters the kitchen, whipping off his cap and fisting his knuckles into it like he’s mad at it.  
  
“Mornin,” he murmurs, heading for the coffee pot.  
  
There’s a few merry greetings, and it’s Jo’s voice that jokes, “You’re here early for a man who doesn’t get up past noon.”  
  
He smiles sarcastically down at his mug, pouring in the steaming liquid. “I figured I should be here for the Q&A. God knows they’ve got questions.”  
  
“Ah, yeah,” Dean says, pulling out a chair for Bobby and fixing his eyes on Castiel and Anna. “Fire away.”  
  
“Let them eat first,” Ellen clicks, fussily.  
  
Sam snorts into his juice, and Bobby rolls his eyes as he sits down.  
  
“First off, just for shit’s a giggles so we’re clear,” Bobby says, already getting into his role, “Anna, you can turn invsibile, and Castiel, you’re an cyrokinetic?”

Anna nods, and Castiel asks intently, “How did you know that?”  
  
“We’ve got the whole organization’s records,” Sam tells them. “We know everyone that’s in the system, and their abilities.”  
  
“How many more are there?” Anna asks, beguiled.  
  
“Oh I don’t know, least a dozen?” Bobby offers. “It’s not a run of the mill thing. Thing more like incredibly rare. It’s a condition of human evolution; that’s why we didn’t notice these assholes for so long, because they’ve kept it very small and quiet, never housing too many together.”  
  
“Sam and I came from the same one, we’re brothers if it wasn’t obvious” Dean adds, for their benefit, “Ellen and Jo were together as well, in a facility not far from ours.”  
  
“Gabe was never in S-CORP at all,” Inias tells them, sipping his coffee, “and I was taken out only a week after I was taken.”  
  
“Yeah, after the CIA was able to rescue Ellen and Jo, Ellen started this whole safe haven for kids who had nowhere to go after the rescue,” Bobby says, and Ellen ducks her head. “And Inias was the first.”  
  
“So last night was...what, an infiltration?” Anna says, slowly.  
  
“Well, we weren’t ‘sposed to wreck anything. That wasn’t in the plan,” Bobby says, grimacing, “we were just tryin’ to get you two out, but these knuckleheads over here don’t know how to do things _calmly_ and _quietly._ ” He glares at Dean and Sam from across the table.  
  
“Hey, they weren’t letting us in,” Dean defends, hands in the air.  
  
“You fucking set half the place on fire,” Bobby chides back.  
  
It lulls into a quiet moment, and Dean looks properly frustrated, while the others grimly remember the chaos from the night before. There’s a quiet chink of cutlery on plates, and Castiel gives up on his cold and slightly soggy toast. He’s not used to warm foods, at all.  
  
“So you just run around... burning up buildings,” Castiel notes, taking the glass of juice that’s been set in from of him.  
  
“Nah, not at all,” Bobby rebuffs, easily.  
  
“We’re just one part of the population,” Sam tells him, “and we’re set on... well, rescuing. It’s our area. The CIA passed it on to us, since it goes smoother this way.” Castiel thinks that’s ironic, because if that was smooth, he’d hate to see how they botch things.  
  
Inias moves his arm, and his elbow knocks into his steaming mug, causing the whole thing to topple. Boiling coffee falls towards his lap. Castiel, acting on reflex, reaches out to catch it; the coffee pours over his hands and with a hiss, it passes through his fingers and over Inias’ thighs; Inias yelps.  
  
“Are you burnt?” Ellen asks immediately, and a few people rise from their seats.  
  
“No, it’s _cold_ ,” Inias complains, and Castiel’s hands are unmarked.  
  
Ellen gasps a second time and says, “Baby, your _arm_.”  
  
The needle marks are a little worse this morning; they sometimes fade into the evening, but the purple and red look vivid, and there’s even a hint of green bruising. He makes to quickly retract his arm, but Ellen catches his wrist and stretches his arm out. Her hand goes white from the cold but she keeps examining, and Bobby stands up to get a better look. His secrets for all to see.  
  
“I think you should take it from here, Sam,” Bobby says, subtly, seriously. Sam nods, stiffly, and Dean keeps staring at Castiel’s arm with a look of deep concentration and concern.  
  
“Later, Bobby.” Dean says, and Bobby sits back down, “I think we need a good breakfast.”  
  
***  
  
After breakfast, Castiel tries to help carry the plates to the sink, but Sam sends them hovering away, watching Castiel carefully, as if worried he’s going to sprint off.  
  
“Can we go for a walk?” Sam asks, and Castiel nods, slowly.  
  
Sam leads him out to the backyard, and Castiel tastes the fresh air on his tongue. A rarity, in his life, it seems. The land surrounding the old house seems to stretch on, bumpy and concealed by trees after a point, but beautiful all the same, causing Castiel’s breath to catch. Sam beckons him down a stoned path, and Castiel follows, letting the sunlight bathe his face. He can hear the birds in the trees, something he hasn’t heard for a long time.  
  
“What did they do to your arm?” Sam has his hands in his pockets, glancing at Castiel from the corner of his eyes, casually.  
  
Castiel self-consciously rubs the spot in question, and answers, “Needles. You know. That sort of thing.”  
  
“They injected you?”  
  
Castiel nods, uncomfortable. Sam lets out a slow breath, and Castiel feels like he said the wrong thing.  
  
“We think they were trying to change your DNA. It’s a relatively new theory of theirs.” Sam kicks a stone down the path. “Have you ever heard of artificial selection?” Castiel shakes his head, and Sam continues, steadily. “They do it in plants all the time; take certain genes to make the plants stronger, tastier, more fruitful. They mutate the chromosomes, creating a newer, better, version. Did they take your blood?”  
  
“Mine and Anna’s, frequently,” Castiel replies; grass has grown out of the stone path, and it crushes under Castiel’s feet.  
  
“They would have experimented on that to see what ‘special’ gene you had; why you were able to do what you do. See, that’s the only reason you’re different; a mutated gene. Nothing too scary.” He smiles, briefly, but Castiel doesn’t match it. “We think they injected you to test their theories; they must have had a complex one, judging by the number you have. Bobby – well, the government really – thinks they want to create a new race of people.”  
  
Castiel stops under a large tree, shadow falling over him, and Sam stops as well, giving Castiel a soft sort of look.  
  
“You get headaches, don’t you?” Sam asks, and Castiel’s eyes widen a little.  
  
“How do you know so much about this?” Castiel’s eyes flicker to Sam’s inner elbows, but they’re blemish free.  
  
Sam makes a face, and folds his legs underneath himself, sitting in the cool grass. Castiel mimics him, plucking a dark blade of grass as Sam says, “I’m going to tell you a story.”  
  
Castiel waits, and Sam weighs his words.  
  
“There was this man and woman, both working for S-CORP, and part of the research team on figuring out about the genes, how they’re created and make us do what we do, and safe placement in human subjects. They were quite... taken with their work, and wondered if they could make the most advanced child. Most humans only use a small portion of their brain, but it’s been proven that people with special abilities have a certain gene to let them unlock more area and brain matter in times of struggle, and to fully operate their... unique ability. They experimented and warped the DNA of an embryo to what they thought was a fool proof plan.”  
  
“The woman became unwell in the last few days of pregnancy. Being scientists, both of them wanted to see their experiment finished; their perfect child. The woman did not survive childbirth. The man was distraught, but knew he could do better. After the second woman died, the pain of what he caused started to weigh heavy on him. All the tests, all the long hours. He was a killer, twice now, and he knew he couldn’t bring himself to stop. So he killed himself. Just like that. And those children? Well they were handed over for observation and a childhood of blank rooms and endless tests.”

  
Sam frowns, scratching his stubble. “I never really forgave him. I was not as perfect as he’d hoped. I suppose it’s mutual dislike. I’m sure Dean feels the same way.” Sam looks away, back towards the house, but makes no move to get up. “You see, natural selection takes generations, and only the fittest survive. Us? Our ‘special’ genes? Would not survive. The side effects of brain swelling and headaches prove that humans aren’t supposed to survive in this manner.” Sam directs his speech to Castiel. “Your headaches show they’ve altered your DNA. Not dramatically so, I would guess, but I can’t be sure.”  
  
Castiel stares at him, and Sam seems surprised. “What?” Sam asks.  
  
“You’re not... your parents did that to you guys?”  
  
“They’re not our parents,” Sam dismisses, with a sad smile. “We don’t have parents. We’re just an experiment. Dean and I aren’t not like the rest of you; you have random mutations thrown in by nature, we’re genetically engineered.”  
  
Castiel bites his lip, and looks over the canopy of leaves and branches hanging over them, shading them. He says, “You say they altered my DNA.”  
  
“Yes. Whether it was effective or not...”  
  
“Why not Anna?” It’s a question that’s by nagging in the corner of his mind, part childish resentment, part curiosity.  
  
“I would guess,” Sam says, slowly, purposely, “either they were testing it on only one, first, or... they couldn’t find Anna’s gene. It would make sense, given her skill is made for evasion.”  
  
Castiel nods, dumbly, and rips a few more strands of grass from the ground. He had forgotten the feel of it between his fingertips, and relishes privately in the nostalgia. He remembers a tutor at S-CORP that would teach him, and whenever they talked about plants or the outside, Castiel would beg to go outside, but they wouldn’t let him. Told him it was dangerous.  
  
“You said they’re trying to create a new race,” Castiel says, staring out over the mown lawn leading to the back veranda of the house. “Why?”  
  
Sam leans back of his elbows, his legs spreading out; sunshine filters through to hit his face is spatters. “We’re not certain. It’s just a theory, but it works out. Imagine a whole race of gifted people? Who could hope to compete?”  
  
“Is that why you take us? To stop them from taking the gene?”  
  
Sam frowns deeply at this, perturbed. “It’s not like that. We _rescue_ them because that’s no way to live, and we know that. They get treated like lab rats,” Sam spits out, “and I’ll be damned if I’m just going to stand by. We have these abilities, and the least we can do is use them to protect our own.”  
  
Castiel sits quietly, clenching his own wrist. He feels guilty suddenly. “Thank you,” he says softly.  
  
Sam deflates into the grass, sighing.  
  
***  
  
They talk for a little longer, Sam asking gentle questions and Castiel answering curtly, before Sam goes back to the house to find Bobby, and discuss the new developments with him. Castiel opts to stay outside and explore the grounds, eager to exercise his new freedom.  
  
The mown lawn doesn’t go for very long; enough to surround the house in a reasonable amount, enough to run around, but the further he ventures away from the stone path, the more uncultivated the grounds become, twisted with tree roots and green grass turning darker and longer, more identifiable as weeds. He trudges through it, carefully, making sure not to venture into any dark places, holed in by vegetation.  
  
Instead he walks where the trees are spaced far apart, their canopy of leaves letting sunlight though, kicking stones here and there. The birds above him are dancing from branch to branch, clicking at him with watchful eyes, and he continues to walk around the forest area, taking in every shade of color. It’s like his books coming to life.  
  
Eleven years. Has it really been so long? Castiel has memories as a child, of running rampant in fields and building castles out of mud, but even those memories seem bland and in sepia, after so long of cream and white walls, white clothes, white carpets. Never any dirt on the floor, always impeccably clean.  
  
He remembers when he first met Anna in the S-CORP, and the color of Anna’s eyes shockingly reminded him of swimming pools and beaches. He was barely twelve years old. He was just a child; he had no idea why his world was changing, or what they wanted from him. He couldn’t understand why he was so much colder, why they wanted to keep him trapped, away from everyone else.  
  
A sudden noise startles him from his musings, and he unthinkingly flails his hand, jetting cold water in the general location of the sound.  
  
“Oh,” he says, stunned. A small squirrel stands upright in the ground, frozen still in a thin layer of ice, and the smothering feeling of guilt trickles in.  
  
“Oh man, that’s harsh,” says a voice humorously, and Castiel’s head snaps up. A crease appears between Dean’s eyebrows as he approaches, and he gingerly sets down the two sacks he was carrying, and kneels on the ground. “You froze the little guy.” Dean’s hands wrap around the small creature, and the ice melts, causing water to spill over his fingers until the squirrel is struggling and squeaking in his hands. Dean opens his hands and releases it, letting it bolt off into the woods away from them.  
  
Dean stands slowly, wiping dirt from his knees. Castiel eyes the brown bags, but Dean doesn’t pick them up again; instead he stares at Castiel, tilting his head. Castiel bites the inside of his cheek, looking down at the ground, feeling the silence start to bear down on him. Dean takes a few steps closer.  
  
“How are things?”  
  
“Fine,” Castiel answers, clipped.  
  
Dean tries to reach out, presumably to touch his shoulder as a form of comfort, but instead Castiel yanks it away, whether out of instinct or because of the sharp, hot sensation, he’s not sure. Dean quickly lifts both of his hands in a surrendering gesture, and says, “Woah there. Not tryin’ to hurt you.”  
  
“I know that,” Castiel brushes off with a hint of irritation, embarrassed. He doesn’t need this new group of people to regard him as vulnerable.  
  
“Not trying to escape, are you?” There’s a joking grin on his face as he says it, and he hauls one of the sacks over his shoulder. Castiel cross his arms tightly and merely shrugs. Dean expression softens slightly, as if realizing something. “Alright well c’mon, I’m heading back to the manor now. I could use some help carrying these back.”  
  
He holds out the other sack, and Castiel watches him for a few long, dragging moments, before timidly reaching out and grasping it. It’s heavy in his hand, and he lifts it higher, cradling it in his arms; it’s sharp and edgy, strange objects making pointed shapes in the lining, and Castiel would guess it’s wood.  
  
Dean smiles, setting off in the direction Castiel had come, and slowly, Castiel follows.  
  
The next five minutes is filled with only Dean’s half-hearted whistling and his characteristically light steps over sticks and dry weeds. The sun is at a softer angle now, behind him and giving the earth around him a pure, clean look, instead of a decidedly yellow glow. Castiel makes sure to be alert for anymore scurrying creatures, so he won’t be caught unaware.  
  
It’s rather daunting; to know when he freezes something, there’s little he can do to undo it. His temperature is too cold to melt it properly, and it’s not as if Dean’s going to be strolling along every day. Castiel doesn’t like knowing he could accidentally kill little animals like that; he actually kind of likes them.  
  
“I was eighteen when Sammy and I were rescued,” Dean starts, seemingly out of nowhere, his voice still carrying the upbeat tone he had been whistling with earlier. “Nearly set this whole forest on fire a few times, when I arrived. Sam was fourteen, so I had to be the one who had a better grip, you know? But I didn’t. I’m pretty sure Bobby wanted to make me wear a flame-retardant suit and oven mitts, but Ellen convinced him otherwise.”  
  
Dean jumps over a bundle of rocks, the sack lifting with momentum and slamming into his back, but if it hurt him, he doesn’t show it. He turns his head a little, curious, and says, “You don’t talk much, do you?”  
  
Castiel bristles at this; the man can’t possibly be older than him, and yet his teasing manner flows freely from one sentence to the next. Castiel says, “I only talk when it means something.” He lets the subtle insinuation of his words rest, and Dean slows to walk in step with him, lifting an eyebrow.  
  
“Cold hearted too, huh?”  
  
Castiel drops the sack to the ground, and wood scatters out from it. He glares and snaps, “Carry it yourself.”  
  
As he stalks off, he hears Dean calling out that it was a joke, but Castiel keeps walking, each stomp leaving frozen drops of ice over the grass.  
  
***  
  
A headache throbs behind Castiel’s eyes, and he leans his head back on the couch, closing them. The living room is empty and quiet, because the house – or manor as they call it – is exceedingly large and most of the rooms are unoccupied at one time or another. Castiel’s caught sight of others, some even the same age as he was when he was originally taken, around the house, but decidedly made an effort to avoid them for the meanwhile.  
  
Gentle fingertips probe as his temples, and Castiel’s eyelids flick open, but above him is only empty space. “Anna?” he says.  
  
Anna appears above him, her eyes watching expectantly. Her fingers massage more deeply, and she says, “You’ve been hiding.”  
  
Castiel rolls his eyes at the irony, and Anna allows himself a wry smile.  
  
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Anna murmurs, “Not being in our rooms anymore.”  
  
Castiel nods, and then winces. Anna strokes her fingers down the sides of her forehead, and says, “You should ask Sam about something to help with your headaches.”  
  
Castiel groans.  
  
“Don’t tell me you dislike them already,” Anna says, disbelieving and annoyed..  
  
“No, it’s not that,” Castiel says, grudgingly. Anna moves around him to sit next to him on the couch, tugging her legs up close to curl on the cushion.  
  
“Then what is it?”  
  
Castiel closes his eyes again, knowing Anna’s close, and tries to relax his thoughts a little. “You don’t think I’m... cold, do you?” The living room has a scent of lavender all around it.  
  
There’s a pause where she tries to find her words. “You mean, literally or-”  
  
“Ugh, never mind,” Castiel cuts her off.  
  
Anna makes an affronted noise, and Anna imagines she’s about to defend herself in the face of his rudeness if not for another voice coming from the doorway.  
  
“So there you kids got off too.” Ellen tucks her hair behind her ear, smiling so persistently. Kindness.

“Want to help make dinner? The others have all gone out, and I could use an extra set of hands.”  
  
Castiel stands up quickly, casting her a polite smile. “Sure.” All his best habits seem to come into play when she’s around.  
  
Anna agrees, giving Castiel a slightly calculating look, before following Ellen from the room. She murmurs with sarcasm, almost inaudibly, “Nice to see your bad moods are selective.”  
  
Castiel pinches Anna’s side, and she smiles.  
  
***  
  
There’s an undetermined amount of people that live in the house. Ellen says older members tend to disappear and return, so there’s never an exact amount, unless there’s an important meeting that requires them all, which rarely ever happens.  
  
Castiel’s introduced to some of the younger children, although he doesn’t grasp all their names, except for the one instance that caught in his mind; the three fourteen year olds called Alex. Other than that, he tries to smile and avoid times when he needs to address them by name.  
  
It’s a curious sight to see all the younger ones together, completely unabashed in their unruly control of power. Two children competing in the middle of the room, one racing around the other with inhuman speed, while the other places his hand on the floor, and it turns to a mud-like consistency, catching the other’s feet and causing him to slow. A blonde girl levitates high above them, out of the ruckus.  
  
“Jack!” Ellen scolds, “You turn the floor back to how it was this instant. And Kaia, you’re ruining the floorboards.”  
  
The both whine a little but they restore the peace, and a girl from the other side of the room asks, “Is dinner ready?” They’re all still animated and hungry from their outdoor trip, and Ellen can’t seem to help the smile that comes to her face.  
  
“When everyone comes back inside,” Ellen tells her, and Castiel moves back to the kitchen, where Anna’s setting out plates for the older ones; the children usually eat in the living room, since it avoids protests of having to leave their board game or television show.  
  
“I didn’t know how many plates to put, so I just filled the table,” Anna says, moving to stand beside Castiel and admire her work. Anna puts her head on Castiel’s shoulder, and they stand in silence.  
  
Outside the older ones are playing a game of soccer, and Castiel feels a different sense of isolation; Castiel pushes away after a few moments, smiling briefly at Anna, and checks the pot on the stove. He doesn’t know anything about cooking, but Ellen tells him things turning black are bad. Castiel’s dinner is different; mostly a salad, with off-cuts of cold chicken. Ellen had been more observant and analytical than he thought, knowing which foods were undesirable when cold. He hadn’t needed to say anything.  
  
Ellen comes into the kitchen, nodding her head, and saying, “Good job A, it looks great.”  
  
Her casual use of the nickname sounds natural, and Anna’s smiling in that sheepish way again. Castiel can hear the front door open, and the chatter that hangs around like a fog comes back into the house, echoing off the walls. When they come in, they’re dirty and grinning; Jo’s hair has leaves entangled in it, and even Inias looks run down, with grass stains on his shirt.  
  
“Hey,” Sam says warmly to Anna and Castiel, wiping away some of the dirt on his cheek. “You guys should come join us next time.”  
  
Dean’s by his side, smiling encouragingly at them both, and Castiel gives him a flat, blank stare. Anna steps on Castiel’s foot, and says, “Sure,” to Sam. A German Shepherd speeds past them, tail swishing in all directions.  
  
“Gabe,” Jo sighs, “you’re not eating like that.”  
  
The German Shepherd leaps up, and Gabe’s feet hit the ground in a smooth transition, while Ellen eyes him with distaste.  
  
“You better wash those filthy hands now you’ve been walking on them,” Ellen clicks, smacking his hands away from the plates.  
  
“Aw Ma, I was going to,” Gabe defends, and Jo snorts at that. The kitchen feels crowded now as everyone lines up to wash their hands and Anna helps Ellen carry everything to the table. Castiel feels awkward, still in the middle of the room, and he watches a small boy run through the wall and snatch a piece of fruit from the table, and run back, completely unseen by the others. Castiel touches the wall; it’s solid. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting.  
  
“Castiel, aren’t you hungry honey?” Ellen asks, closer than he thought, and he turns quickly.  
  
“Um, yeah. Sorry,” he says, disoriented.  
  
His first day out of the S-CORP and he already feels like he’s drowning, wanting nothing more than to escape to his and Anna’s room for the rest of the night. He makes an excuse of not feeling well, and Ellen lets him go.  
  
***  
  
The room’s different to how he left it in the morning. Over each bed is a handmade quilt, with different patches but the same left corner which has _family_ embroidered on it. Another pile rests at the foot of their beds, this time odd assortments of clothes, obviously worn before, with holes in the hems and worn seams. They all smell the same, almost like the flowers and grass from this morning.  
  
Castiel’s tutor had taught him about washing machines and the evolution of domestic machinery. He wonders if he’ll see one while he’s here.  
  
He sits in the middle of the room on the floor boards and they grow colder beneath him. He closes his eyes and tries to mediate, to calm the niggling ache in the back of his mind, but he finds himself restless, unable to clear his mind. He extends his palm, and slowly begins to makes a thin ice barrier in front of himself. He continues until he’s surrounded by a 360 degree ice wall. The cold air around him sets his nerves at ease, and the superficial protection gives him slight peace of mind.  
  
He dreamt of S-CORP the night before. He always dreams of S-CORP; he doesn’t have many other experiences to contemplate over. Last night had been different, though. The facility was how it was when they were being rescued; on fire and falling apart. Dr. Naomi was chasing after them with her team, all in temperature resistant suits. In the dream, Anna was missing and Castiel didn’t know if she was conscious or visible, and afraid that he was neither.  
  
In some ways, Castiel wished Dean had burnt the place to the ground. Such a destructive power. In other ways, Castiel wishes he was still there. Castiel isn’t sure he wants to be out in the real world; it’s complicated; noisy; uncertain. He used to read about society and etiquette and the family unit in all the books they gave him, but he’s left unbalanced in this new world. Dean had called him cold, not just literally, actually cold hearted. The man who first injected Castiel called him emotionless after Castiel gave his fingers frostbite, and they had to be amputated. Castiel just didn’t see the injustice as the scientist did.  
  
He sucks in air, and it chills his lungs. He sets his hands on his crossed legs, and imagines nothing. Nothing but fog, a cold blanket covering his vision. All aches fade, and he feels the sweet lull.  
  
“Cas?”  
  
Damn it.  
  
Castiel lets his eyes open a bit, and the figure is blurred by ice, but Castiel know that it’s Dean. He closes his eyes again, and tries to count backwards. He just wants to be alone. He hears the footsteps come closer, and he frowns in irritation. Opening his eyes again, he sees an unfocused version of Dean kneeling on the other side of the ice, closer than Castiel thought.

“Don’t call me that.”  
  
“What are you doing in there?” Dean asks, confused.  
  
“Go away,” Castiel mutters.  
  
Dean instead presses his palms to the ice, and Castiel watches powerlessly as a small ball of orange appear in each one, eating away at his wall. He groans in frustration, crossing his arms to accentuate his point. The cold water pools and freezes around his feet as Dean appears through the gap in the ice.  
  
“Bobby needs to see you,” Dean explains, and Castiel’s staring at the small candlelight flame on Dean’s palm. It diminishes when Dean notices, and he repeats himself.  
  
“Why?” Castiel questions, suspiciously.  
  
Dean sighs, impatiently. “He wants to check out your arm, see what they put into you.”  
  
Castiel crosses his arms tighter. “And if I refuse?”  
  
“Then I’m lighting your ass up.” Dean says, amused, but Castiel feels like he’s serious. “Don’t you want to know what kind of dangerous substances they pumped into you?”

Castiel looks on, unwavering, so Dean adds, “You know, Anna trusts us.”  
  
It doesn’t have its desire effect. Instead, Castiel scoffs, “You have a lenient description of trust.”  
  
A crease forms in Dean’s brow. “What?”  
  
“You don’t know anything about Anna, don’t pretend to.”  
  
“Look dude, I’m not gonna argue. It’s in your best interest,” Dean perseveres, his flushed cheeks remarkably noticeable next to the melting ice. “So come with me or sit up here caught up in your own head, but you can-... You can trust us, alright?”  
  
Castiel appraises him for a few moments, scrutinizing the sincerity on his face before giving in, resigned. He unfolds his arms and gets to his feet, with Dean scrambling to as well. Castiel shakes his head at him, not fully getting the man standing in front of him. He bring himself to trust him no matter what is said.  
  
“Bobby and Sam are waiting downstairs,” Dean says, indicating he’ll lead the way. Castiel follows, silently, and he seems to be following everyone, lately.  
  
He’s lost his equilibrium, in this place. Doesn’t know where he stands, or what he’s expected to do. He walks as if pulled by string, or a route he’s long memorized and no longer needs to pay any mind. The little blonde girl runs past him on the way, her shoes making clacking sounds against the boards. They pass the kitchen and down a hallway, where Dean twists the doorknob of the last room. He glances back to make sure Castiel’s following, and opens the door.  
  
The room is painfully white, in a way that reminds him of S-CORP. It looks like one of the labs, as well, but much smaller and less formal. Dean ushers him in first and follows behind, almost as if to corner Castiel into the room. Bobby and Sam are, thankfully, not dressed in white; they are dressed in clean clothes however, having showered and changed since the soccer match. Sam smiles welcomingly, patting the grey seat beside him.  
  
“Hi,” Sam greets, “just have a seat here.”  
  
“What are you going to do?” Castiel asks, not moving.  
  
“We want to peek at what you got on that arm,” Bobby responds, increasingly convincing Castiel no one here is going to take no for an answer.

  
Castiel sits, reluctantly, and Dean moves to the side of the room, getting something from the bench.  
  
“Why weren’t you at dinner?” Bobby asks, gesturing for Castiel to lay his arm out.  
  
“Wasn’t feeling well,” Castiel says, unsure. The inside of his elbow has worsened throughout the day; some of the recent marks are puckered and swollen, reddened around the edges. Bobby makes a tutting noise with his teeth, and Sam accepts a tray from Dean.  
  
“Then I guess it’s a damn good thing we’re checking,” Bobby says, seriously. “You might be reacting badly. They might have been keeping you under observation.”  
  
Dean sits down on Castiel’s other side, watching intently, and Bobby examines his arm, prodding at a few of them as Castiel hisses. He apologies, and then grimaces.  
  
“I need to take samples,” Bobby tells him.  
  
“You’re not a doctor?” Castiel blurts out before he can stop himself. What if this is another S-CORP, just with friendlier faces? A tendril of fear spreads up Castiel’s spine.  
  
“I’ve done a lot of study in the medical field,” Bobby says, smiling wryly. “My military experience makes me the best candidate in this room.”  
  


Bobby lowers the tray, and Castiel’s eyes flick over the cotton buds, little packets of something, and a small row of needles. Castiel tenses, and Bobby tightens his hold on his wrist.  
  
“Easy, kid. We’re going to numb it first, with this gel,” Bobby tells him, trying to be comforting. “Then we’re just going to take a little. I can’t promise it won’t hurt, but I’ll try what I can to make it fast.”  
  
“No,” Castiel says.  
  
“Castiel, listen to Bobby. He’s trying to do this the easy way, but they’ll have to take you back to CIA headquarters to do this if you don’t corporate. We just want to help,” Sam tries.  
  
“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, reproachfully. Dean says, to Castiel, “Don’t worry, Bobby’s good at this.”  
  
“I don’t care-” Castiel stops short when he notices a change of hands; Dean’s holding his wrist out now, and Bobby has his eyes on a needle, screwing in the metal tip.  
  
Castiel tries to pull back his arm, and Sam tells him, “Relax.”  
  
Bobby rubs in a clear gel over the needle marks, and Castiel swallows, trying to remember what place he went to when the doctors injected him. He can’t remember. He wants Anna. How foolish they were to think this was going to be different, as if they would ever be free.  
  
As his skin starts to numb, Dean’s fingers stroke the inside of his wrist. Tension and anxiety keep his arms in place, instead of retreating from Dean’s touch. Bobby presses the needle in, and Castiel feels the sting and burn once it gets past the first layer of skin. He hisses and makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat as Bobby fills the small vial with a bloody substance, thick and vile.  
  
When he pulls it out, a small bead of blood bubbles out over the skin. “Almost done,” Bobby says, smiling a grim smile.  
  
Castiel pulls his arm from Dean’s stroking fingers, and wrenches his hand with some difficulty from Bobby’s grip. He feels hands on his shoulders but he manages to propel himself from the chair, rounding on them.  
  
“You’re no different!” he yells at them, and the blood dribbles down his arm. “You said you were rescuing us. You said we could trust you. You fucking _liars_.”  
  
Castiel rarely swears; it was used by the doctors and scientists many times, and he was taught all about profanity, but only now he realizes what it means to use it in such a vigorous, deserving sense.  
  
Dean stares, stunned, and Bobby’s eyes are calculating, assessing the situation. Sam looks merely intrigued, curious. Castiel runs to the door before they can restrain him, tearing down the hallway. Footsteps follow him, and he’s hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu.  
  
Being thirteen years old and running away as fast as he could, but never fast or far enough. The hallways were always dark by that time, when he was able to slip away. Hands used to come out of doorways, grasping at him. He would scream for his mother as they caught him, holding him tight and telling him it’s alright. Everything’s alright. His head throbs, headache pounding.  
  
No hands come out of doorways here. He runs to where the hallway ends, and little eyes watch him, children curious and glancing in. Anna’s arm hooks around his waist, and Anna pulls him closer, asking, “What’s wrong? No hey, stop. What’s going on?”  
  
“We need to get out of here,” Castiel tells him, urgently, and Ellen throws her tea towel on to the bench, and puts her hands on her hips as the three men come into the room after him. Jo watches from where she sits on the clear kitchen table, a dog Castiel assumed was Gabe laying at her feet.

  
“What did you boys do?” Ellen scolds, shorter than them all, but with a fire of anger the size of the sun..  
  
“Kid, if you don’t give us samples now, we know fuck all about what they put in you. You’re a few hours from dying on that kitchen floor for all we know,” Bobby tells him, ignoring the angry woman between them.  
  
“It’s for your safety,” Sam says.  
  
“We’re trying to help,” Dean adds, earnestly.  
  
“I don’t want to,” Castiel says, his voice croaky and guttural, and Anna grips him tighter.  
  
“Wait,” Jo says, stroking the dog’s fur, “What could happen if he doesn’t?” she gets off the couch to join the group.

  
“Did you not hear me Jo Anne? Permanent damage, or worst case scenario, power explosion,” Bobby answers, and Castiel watches Dean’s face; he’s gnawing deeply on his thick bottom lip. “If that happens, we’re all in danger.”  
  
“He’s showing no symptoms,” Ellen defends, not relaxing her stance.  
  
“Let them, Mom,” Jo says. “It’s for the best, I think Castiel knows that.”  
  
“He said no,” Anna argues, angered. “Cas has a right to say what is done to him.”  
  
The air is tense, and they all stare at each other; Dean at Castiel, Bobby at Anna, Sam at Ellen, and Jo glancing between them all. The blood on Castiel’s arm starts to clot, and it’s started to dry thin in the small dribble inching to his wrist.  
  
A headache blooms, hard and sudden, in the forefront of his mind, and he flinches. Bobby stares harder, as if enforced, and Castiel looks away. The dog barks, and Jo hushes, “Not now.”  
  
“This shouldn’t even be an option, with your headaches,” Bobby says, gravely. “There’s a symptom for you, _Ellen_.”  
  
“Don’t talk to me like that, you stubborn ass,” she bites back.  
  
“Stop babying him or the CIA will be down here to pick him up instead,” Bobby sighs, and everyone is reminded that there is a higher power to answer to.

  
Ellen seemingly doesn’t care. She glowers at him. “Is that a threat?”  
  
Sam makes a face. “Hey, no. No one’s threatening anyone. Ma, it’s fine. Bobby didn’t -”  
  
“I am,” Bobby says, not backing down. “This puts us all at risk and you damn well know it. He’s been contaminated and I refuse to put us in this situation for a second time.”  
  
“This ain’t nothing like that and you know it!” she yells.  
  
“Honey we can’t take those chances,” Bobby replies. “Either he comes here and lets me finish, or the CIA comes to get him. End of story.”  
  
“Over my dead body,” and it’s apparently obvious she’s way past listening.  
  
She moves quickly, grasping Castiel’s wrist, and he hears Dean’s shout of, “Ellen, don’t-!” before his stomach seems to bottom out and he’s being stretched in endless impossible ways.  
  
***  
  
He lands hard on the sand, dry-retching on an empty stomach. Anna’s not so fortunate, throwing up her dinner, bent forward on her knees. The quiet is sudden and thick, penetrated only the background noise of rushing waves, far off and muffled.  
  
Ellen tightens her jumper around herself, and peers down at them. “I’m sorry,” she says, belatedly. “I sometimes forget about the motion sickness.”  
  
Castiel collapses on top of his own feet, his hands planting backwards into the sand, and above him is a great expanse of sky, with hundreds of stars spattered across it, like white flecks of paint on a black canvas. His breath comes out in something of a gasp, and Anna rolls on to his back, away from the sick.  
  
“Where are we?” Castiel asks, tenuous, breathing heavy.  
  
Ellen turns towards the waves, and the wind blows her hair back, away from her face. “A beach, about a state over.”  
  
His head hurts; it’s hard to swallow.  
  
“I know you feel violated, and you got every right to be. I just ask you don’t hold it against them,” Ellen says, quietly, and she sits down close to the two of them. “They’re... we’re the good guys. They wouldn’t hurt you.”  
  
Castiel tightens his hand into a fist, and Anna sits up, indignation etched into her features.  
  
“They’re just as bad as those scientists, back there,” she spits in disgust.  
  
Ellen looks close to tears. “Baby, they’re not. God as my witness, I swear. It’s just... Bobby, aggravating as he is, he knows a lot, okay? He’s one of the most decorated agents there, but he knows so much about this subject, about all of us. He’s smart, too smart, he knows all the risks and possibilities, and his knowledge sometimes clashes with our instincts. But Sam believes in Bobby, and so does Dean. He’s practically their uncle. When Bobby had found out what John had been doing, he started all of this. They’re the reason we get to do these things, rescue these kids. Their intentions are good, I promise.”

  
Ellen huffs and rubs at her forehead. “You two were the latest. We’ve never rescued someone as old as you two, we didn’t even though they had people in their custody who were legal adults, let alone been in captivity for as long as eleven years. We never realized how easy children adapted. There’s not a single book on how to help in this situation. It’s all undetermined how you’ll function, now. We’re all just trying to help, that’s the truth of it. ”  
  
“But we also have to protect the home we’ve built and the children we care for.” she continues, sand drifting through her fingers. “We had an issue, once.”  
  
Anna bites her thumb, chewing at her nail and the gritty remains of the sand. Castiel closes his eyes, feeling hot flashes of pain surge through his mind, and his arm has started to ache thoroughly.  
  
“There was a boy, about eleven,” Ellen explains, reciting slowly, “we saved him, we loved him. We tried to give him a real life. He had these marks on his thigh from where they experimented on him, kinda like your’s. We tried to put it behind us all, and nurture him in a loving environment. It turns out that...” She pauses, before swallowing. “It just wasn’t enough. They used growth hormones and strengthening agents to enhance his ability. They wanted to use him to hurt people. The more we acted like nothin’ was wrong, the worse it got. He could control the energy around him; anything. Things like light bulbs, batteries, you get the point. The more it intensified inside him, the more distracted he became.”  
  
She watches the dark waves lap at the shore, troubled. “I’ve never seen nothing like it. It was like he exploded. We didn’t even know something like that could happen. We were all out in public. The lights burst, the power lines snapped and flew in all directions, and everyone was thrown back with such a force that it winded whoever was within a hundred feet. Three people died, along with the boy. It took a day to clean up the streets, and almost a week to get the electricity functioning again. He did that. The child we tried to save did that. We didn’t have the faintest clue what to do.”  
  
She wipes her cheeks prematurely, even though she hadn’t shed any tears, almost as if it was an involuntary reaction.  
  
“He died?” Anna echoes, imagining the scenario before her.  
  
Castiel wonders what it would be like to have all that power expelled from your body. Would there be a point you could actually feel it shift? Feel it exit your soul completely and be thrown out wildly into the world?  
  
“Bobby was close to being fired, and Sam felt responsible,” she answers. “Sam expects himself to always know the answers, to always see things us mere people can’t.” Her dry, sardonic tone mixes with the salty air.  
  
“And Dean?” Castiel asks, watching her face.  
  
“He mourned losing a family member. It hit him hard,” she shrugs. “I think we all had our share of grief.”  
  
They sit in silence, and with every throb and twitch, Castiel wonders what’s inside him. He’s had needles spanning over weeks now; would it be too late for them to do anything? He fears what’s inside him, but fears more so the look of the needle and the familiar feeling of his trapped wrist.  
  
Castiel closes his eyes, understanding a little more, and says, “I’m sorry. I should have just let them.”  
  
Ellen clutches his cold hand suddenly. “Don’t you ever feel sorry for being afraid.”  
  
Sitting behind and between Castiel and Ellen, Anna lets out a choked noise.  
  
“You sound a lot like my mama,” Anna says, giving a watery smile for one, two, three seconds, before crumpling and letting Ellen hug her tight.  
  
Castiel rubs her back and lets her rest her head on his slumped shoulder. Castiel doesn’t remember his parents vividly. Not much to remember, except his father demanding they take the ‘little freak’ from his house while his mother cried.  
  
Anna has a lot of stories about her parents. Her father, the bearer of gifts, her mother, the healer of all wounds, and her sisters, the masters of annoyance. A stab of jealousy punctures Castiel’s lungs, but he keeps breathing, and keeps holding on.  
  
Ellen tells them another story, this time about beaches and sunshine, bathing suits and sand castles. She promises them they’ll come here again one day, in the daytime, and they’ll see what life on the outside is like. She tells them they’ll come to understand fun and togetherness, and put away any doubt. Soon.

Soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 is coming!


End file.
